[x]

voxmist,
settling on surfaces,
scintillates
and sheens.

opalescent night.

the moon a heavy-lidded eye.

in the dead hours i write.
hushed, in the doldrums,
the world around me sleeps
and i can hear my Mother's voice.

tanabatathough kept apart
by the vast deep,
two distant hearts
one promise keep.

by the vast deep,
on sep'rate strands.
one promise keep:
together stand.

on sep'rate strands
'til blessed by moon;
together stand,
lovers commune.

'til blessed by moon,
two distant hearts;
lovers commune,
though kept apart.

paradigmcreation speaks in endless tongues
and to each soul in its own way.

the omnipresent and omniscient
knows no limitations.
the boundaries applied by man
are man's
and disappear in truth's majestic
eye.

we are as motes
dancing in light:
illuminated,
not luminous alone.
bask and shine
by reflecting the source with our selves.

shrine

we are gnosis-filled vessels;
grails to quaff the mysteries.
the is where is not nestles;
we are reliquaries.

peninsula rengaflorida summer
crinkled palm fronds
twist bottlecaps

keeping a lookout for the
gators and anacondas

muddy boots
squish and slosh
through the marsh

skin warm and tight on my cheeks
i can feel freckles sprouting

flinch away from the waves
too cold for the heat
as they crash around

i taste the sea in my throat
and smell the salt on my breath

surging
the sail molds around the wind
with sharp snaps

my soul soars on the gulf breeze
with the angels and seagulls

towering clouds
push kites and children
waiting for rain

the squall washes into shore
bathing my face with summer

the sun squints overhead
scrutinizing my
isolation

jolted awake by a stark epiphanyi caught a spare glimpse
of the tome from which muse quotes;
i saw my pride's bane.

i am the saddest of scribes,
the poorest of plagiarists.

dress-upthe closet opens to reveal
that little girl, eyes full of zeal;
she's come to twirl and whirl and squeal.
as she dons me her giggles skirl;
that little girl, she's come to twirl.

she wants to look the debutante.
against the rules mommy has taught,
in gramma's jools she'll primp and flaunt
as at her feet i drape and pool;
against the rules in gramma's jools.

she sneaks in, secret, to wear me;
we play pretend til mommy sees.
my bestest friend she'll always be.
when she grows up...sigh...this will end.
we play pretend, my bestest friend.

park

sunlight
reflected in
her blue eyes, so like mine.
like, but not...in all the best ways.
my girl.

poets, mad men, and other prophets

to see, and so pray to be blind;
to see and yet fail to describe.
describing, praying to be mute;
describing what all will refute.
refuted, praying to be free;
refuted but still damned to see.

captain's logby now the sun's gone red,
swollen and yet colder;
the earth, still, burnt and dead.

extinction made bolder
our race; reaching the stars
upon quantum shoulders.

but have we reached too far,
we few thousand riding
this life-raft-killing-jar?

space is not abiding;
we lack maps decrying
here be dragons hiding!

our prow ether-plying
as the navigator
flails at planet scrying.

i've grown to fear we have played traitor
to the veiled cause of our creator.

muddling throughforging forward, head high.
only options: topple or try.
will wanes, but won't break.
wondering what trail to take.
a soul at stake.
may my fear from me fly;
forging forward, head high.

epiloguemy hand of glory:
holding sticks of rendered self,
casting empty light.

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seeing signsthese sails are filled
with windsome words
the ship, though: stilled.
i watch the birds
wheel overhead;
airborne ogham,
meaning unread,
is muse's locum.

dinner danceskillet's sizzlin',
sumner's singin',
chilis chopped up...
phone is ringin':
"stuck in traffic,
be late; love you."
"ik zie je graag."
what can i do?
i'll just keep our
supper from fizzlin';
sumner's singin,
skillet's sizzlin'.

acrostic haiku: hypnogogsHolding her paintbrush
Yearning, the poet pauses
Poised, expecting colour
h
e
n
o
m
e
n
o
Nothing can prepare
One artist for the painful
Grasp of another's artform
e
s
s
Only white canvas
Gleaming, dawn surrenders
Sleepless nights ending

daybreakThe sun is rising, sweet
as a wildly swinging trapeze,
or the heart-trembling beat
of a beloved song on the breeze
of dawn, the waking street

as a wildly swinging trapeze,
the soul is rocked forthward and back
of a beloved song on the breeze.
so time, of the mind, loses track
and memory does as it's pleased.

The soul is rocked forthward and back
(of dawn, the waking street)
so time, of the mind, loses track,
the sun is rising, sweet
and the poet feels what words lack

kekule's oracleSometimes the beginning
(ouroboros sings)
does not come after an ending
(of the benzene ring),
the days blur, you stop
(art and myth and dreams)
watching the clock
(go beyond what 'seems'),
listen for the birds
(the hypnogog sees)
to herald the morning
(things as they could be).

play...come let us play where the dead come to rest.
let us feel the cool earth of the grave.
come visit the place where even life is a guest.
tell me dear, why so afraid?
come let us play in the graveyard!

come walk by each headstone and read it aloud.
let us sing among those with no breath.
let the fog roll over the grass in a shroud.
let us hear all the stories of death.
oh, come, let us play in the graveyard.

come let us waltz down that well-trodden path
or play blind-man's-bluff in a crypt.
let us face our demise with a grin and a laugh,
for we know that the young are exempt.
so, come let us play in the graveyard.

come see the mo

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Submitted: January 14, 2012
Image Size: 1.3 MB
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peripheral inner haigaby =deinktvis

Literature / Poetry / Spiritual / Visual & Found Poetry

14.1.12

a haiga collaboration with my long time dA friend =adi0. here is a [link] to his original. thanks, as always, c!

the poem is senryu:

peripheral inner vision

- not-quite-splash -
the step stone rises
'neath my foot.

Critique by ~Queen-Cupcake-Neko Jan 15, 2012, 3:16:08 PM

First, let's start with the picture.
The picture itself is great. The colors and beautiful and the lighting is great. I love the clarity and the way that his picture focuses on the stones and the water. I, myself feel inspried by this picture. It is truely great. It is creative and mixes in nature along with man-made things.
Now, let's focus on the poem.
Even though it is short, it is great. It made a great impact on me when I first read it. It shows deep thinking. It also shows that the picture inspired the writer.
Let me just finish by saying, I really, truely love this submission.

What do you think?

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5 out of 5 deviants thought this was fair.

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~Sarkananight Jan 16, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Simply beautiful!

=deinktvis Jan 16, 2012 Student Writer

thanks!

~Sarkananight Jan 16, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

No prob!

~Myth-of-Creation Jan 14, 2012

Short, but no less mysterious otherwise. And that photo, WOW.

=deinktvis Jan 15, 2012 Student Writer

give =adi0 props for the visual

and thanks for the

~Myth-of-Creation Jan 15, 2012

I'll definitely look em up! You're welcome for the fav as well!

=sunshinegypsy Jan 14, 2012 Professional Writer

OHH!! Perfect collab! Sometimes at night I don't feel as if I'm lying on my bed - more that my bed is rising up beneath me. Which was actually the inspiration for a poem I wrote - [link]

=deinktvis Jan 15, 2012 Student Writer

well- worded!

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